


The One Where Sherlock was Drunk

by IdrisSmith



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 06:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisSmith/pseuds/IdrisSmith
Summary: Sherlock got a little too drunk and started to flirt with Molly.





	The One Where Sherlock was Drunk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FluffySherlollyFan119](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffySherlollyFan119/gifts).



> Thank you to [iamtheno1cumbercookie](https://iamtheno1cumbercookie.tumblr.com/) for BETA-ing this for me. Inspired by [this text chat](https://incorrectsherlollyquotes.tumblr.com/post/167128502372/sherlock-come-on-john-i-didnt-drink-that-much)

Sherlock never had been a good drunk. The best evidence of this, that had everyone cackling over it for months, was John Watson’s stag party. The night ended with both men in a holding cell for a night following Sherlock’s attempt to solve a case while intoxicated. Of course, no one dared to bring it up again or rather had forgotten over the years as life does go on and talking about Sherlock and his ridiculousness was not everyone’s favourite topic at a dinner party or during a night out.

Nobody, not even Greg Lestrade had expected to see just how bad of a drunk Sherlock was first hand. It was one thing to bail him out of a holding cell and another to witness the Consulting Detective bumbling about, shouting deductions at the top of his lungs, and being reduced to tears by one small pathologist who looked unsure whether she should laugh or feel embarrassed at the turn of events.

The evening had started out quite normally. For the first time since Lestrade, and everyone present, had met Sherlock, he was agreeing to join them for a drink down at the pub. To say that anyone was surprised was an understatement. John’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, Anderson was eyeing Sherlock suspiciously and Lestrade had to repeat his question to make sure Sherlock hadn’t misheard him.

“You’re saying you’ll join us?” Lestrade asked for the third time. “Anderson’s going to be there as well. You know that, right?”

“Yes, Graham. How many times do I have to tell you?” Sherlock said in his usual matter-of-fact and all around condescending tone.

Years of experience taught Lestrade enough to know when to just go with whatever Sherlock had planned even if he would regret it later. He didn’t question the Consulting Detective further, knowing there was only one thing that could follow that outburst and he was not in the mood to hear any of his cutting deductions after a good day of crime solving, having put away a criminal he had been chasing for months without Sherlock’s help.

“The usual pub then,” Lestrade conceded. “John knows where it is.”

Even anyone who had known Sherlock long enough wasn’t prepared. They hadn’t seen it coming or even come close to expecting how entertaining (or horrifying, depending on who you’re asking) the night ended up.

Molly Hooper, who was always invited for a pint or two with the group, showed up a couple hours after the group had downed enough alcohol to flood the city with. Radiant as ever, she took the empty seat next to Sherlock. It was nothing new, though no one in their right mind ever wanted to sit down next to the Consulting Detective, not even John Watson if he could help it. They all knew there would be a good chance of Sherlock reducing someone to tears before the night ended.

No one thought much of it, what was worse, no one thought to monitor Sherlock’s alcohol intake. Considering he was an adult, no one felt like they had to. Despite that fact it would have been a good idea for someone to do just that. Not even John who had once shared a cell with him when they were arrested more than a couple of years previously, thought about how drunk Sherlock could get.

At first, no one noticed as Sherlock swivelled in his stool to turn in Molly’s direction as she relaxed herself, enjoying the company. The majority of the party were somewhere between not nearly drunk enough and too drunk to function to even notice the change in Sherlock’s demeanour as Molly said her hellos.

“Hiiii,” Sherlock slurred, watching Molly as she reached for a pint that was pre-ordered for her. She was invited and even expected to be there by everyone present.

She took a sip from her drink before acknowledging him, not registering the silly smile that was spreading across his face. “Hi Sherlock.”

“Hiiiiiiii!” Sherlock said, a little higher, pleased that she was acknowledging him.

Molly tilted her head, blinking for a minute before realising that Sherlock was, in fact, drunk. Unfortunately, for her, she was the only person who seemed to notice it. Everyone else present seemed all too happy with a drink in their hands and a couple were already slurring themselves. She recognised a couple of new detectives who had just been assigned to Lestrade’s division slumping and singing the Irish drinking song which was, funnily enough, a normal occurrence whenever they joined the group for a drink.

“How much have you had to drink?” she asked, concerned. Her eyes darted across the table trying to catch the attention of John and Lestrade who had started an intense conversation and failed to notice her alarmed look.

“Two –” Sherlock answered, putting his fingers up into a V shape.

Molly shook her head, a little amused, doubting the number of drinks Sherlock claimed he had had. After all, she knew how much he could actually drink before getting to where he currently was. It must have been hard enough for him to sit with the group for two hours, listening to conversations he thought too mundane, to lose track of what he had downed. Either that, or he simply could have had a few drinks to stop himself from being rude. He had gotten better at keeping his opinion to himself these days, but not that good. 

“You’re drunk after a couple of drinks?” She asked disbelievingly

“I’m not drunk!” Sherlock exclaimed, finally getting the attention of everyone in the group who was not yet too far gone and drunk themselves, as well as a number of other patrons. Some of them looked on with interest while others looked a little alarmed at the sudden outburst.

“God, Sherlock,” Molly said quickly, loud enough only for Sherlock to hear. “Use your inside voice.”

Sherlock, who was now wearing an even wider grin, reminding Molly a bit of the Grinch, leaned closer to her. “You’re pretty,” he drawled.

Someone behind her squeaked, this was followed by a short sound made by a person getting punched right in the gut. Molly could hazard a guess that it was Anderson and he was being silenced by Lestrade, who didn’t need the man losing his head over the two again.

“Umm… thank you,” she replied, chuckling at the intoxicated man.

“Verrrryyyyyy pretty…” He drawled.

The stupid smile on his face turned into a toothy grin, causing Molly to blush ridiculously. By now, the loud pub with a terrible choice of music that usually filled the air, seemed to turn into her morgue. It was eerily quiet and you could hear a pin drop.

“Do you have a boy- boyfriend…?” Sherlock kept talking, his speech was heavily slurred and his cheeks were red from the level of alcohol in his system.

Molly sighed, shaking her head. A few years ago, being the centre of attention would have horrified her to no end. She had always tried to remain as invisible as she could be, with the exception of getting recognition from her body of work. It was something she was proud of and she was comfortable when the limelight was on her then. In a pub with her colleagues who were also his, with him flirting with her, however, would have been a completely different story. Fortunately, she had come a long way since.

“You’re drunk,” she said pointedly, shaking her head. “I think that’s enough drink for you, Mister.”

“Noooooo...” Sherlock whined as Molly moved the glass that held what was left of Sherlock’s drink out of his reach.

Molly could hear Lestrade chuckling among the men and women; he seemed to be the only one sober enough to be able to remember what had happened in the morning. She chuckled, knowing how Lestrade, or even John who was slightly tipsier than him, would never let Sherlock live the moment down.

Sherlock pouted, actually pouted. “You’re me-meannnn…” he said, his words interrupted by hiccups.

It took all of Molly’s will power not to laugh at her idiot. Lestrade, on the other hand, didn’t have the same reservation as her and started to laugh, taking John and the few sober men and women along on the ride with him.

Yes, Sherlock was definitely going to regret it in the morning.

“I’m not,” Molly replied with a smile. “And you’re going to thank me in the morning.”

“I am?” Sherlock asked, perking up at the statement.

People were still watching them with undivided interest, with some giggling or grinning. Molly turned to Lestrade for assistance, any help at all, but received none. Everyone was all too happy to watch her handle Sherlock on her own. Not that she could blame them, knowing how she had always been the person they had to call when Sherlock was being an arse.

“Yes,” she told him, trying not to sound frustrated. “You won’t want to deal with a hangover.”

“A-are you…” he started to ask but paused, seemingly trying to find the word he had lost along his questioning. “S-single?”

That did it. Their group of friends started to howl with laughter, waking up even the ones who had passed out. Whatever they had expected Sherlock to ask or say, everyone would later agree, that was not it.

Fighting the urge against banging her head on the table, Molly smiled. “No, I have a boyfriend,” she said. For a minute, she thought to clarify that he was the fool of a boyfriend, but before she could do just that – before anyone was prepared for what would happen, the sight of Sherlock Holmes, the great Consulting Detective looking hurt, tears brimming in his eyes, shocked them.

“Sherlock…?” Molly said his name cautiously.

“Y-you…” he tried to speak, but stopped as if he was overwhelmed by the thought of her seeing someone that was not him. “…have a boyfriend?”

Nothing – nothing Molly could have had said in that moment could change a thing as Sherlock started to sob, much to the amusement of their group of friends and the confusion of the other patrons in the pub.

“Oh God!” Sherlock exclaimed, still a mess. “Are you back with meat dagger?”

That was it; any chance for Sherlock to recover his dignity was lost. A number of their friends had swiped out their mobiles and started to film them. It would be around for many years and would probably be used against him the moment he had any biting remarks against anyone. To be honest, Molly was surprised no one had started filming them earlier, not that she wanted that to happen.

“John, a little help?” Molly pleaded.

“You’re with John!?” Sherlock was shouting now and his attention quickly turned to John Watson who seemed to have sobered up from shock. “How could you!”

The doctor looked perplexed at the strong statement made against him. Though, a small smile spread on his lips as he quickly processed what was happening. He shook his head over his friend’s silliness, not bothering to dignify his friend’s drunken outburst with any sort of answer. Instead, he went around the table before grabbing Sherlock by the collar and hoisting the much taller man to his feet.

“Alright, that’s enough for you today.” he said as Sherlock stumbled off the stool. “How much have you had to drink?”

“No!” Sherlock protested, breaking free from John’s firm grip and flailing about, nearly tripping over his own feet. “You – my best friend stole my Molly from me!”

Lestrade stopped laughing just in time, dashing to catch Sherlock from falling on his bum as the man twirled around. It was a sight for everyone present – to be able to catch the over-poised man lose his head after a few rounds of alcohol and over a woman named Molly Hooper.

“I did not steal Molly from you,” John said, a little irritated. “Jesus! We need to get you back to the flat.”

John tried to grab him again, only to fail as Sherlock moved about, dodging any attempt to hold him in place. “No!”

“God, how did you manage to arrest him the last time he was drunk?” Lestrade asked, sparing a glance at his team who could only shrug, as he tried to assist John in getting Sherlock under control. Though, the grown baby wanted nothing to do with them, drunkenly fumbling trying to hide behind Molly who had now stood up from her stool.

“Sherlock, stop,” Molly said irritably.

Two words – that was all it took. Two words from the petite pathologist to make Sherlock Holmes stop in his tracks. He turned to look at her with a sad pair of eyes. He had started to break down all over again, slumping over Molly who patiently wrapped him in her arms, calming him down.

“Shhh… it’s okay,” she said, soothing him.

Somehow, Molly managed to keep him calm enough for the ten minutes it took for someone to hail them a cab and for both Lestrade and John to haul Sherlock into the back of it. They left the pub followed by people hooting at them. Of course they knew who they were, it wasn’t as if their relationship was a secret to anyone, even if they did try to keep it on a low profile.

“You’re not going to let him forget about this, are you?” Molly asked John, holding the door of the cab open. A couple of steps from the cab, Lestrade was already on the phone with, no doubt, Mycroft to sort out the mess that was Sherlock. She heard the older man laugh heartily, guessing that Mycroft must have been grumbling on the other end.

John grinned, sparing a glance towards Sherlock who was slumped in the back of the cab and back at Lestrade who was now smiling stupidly as he talked on the phone. “Not bloody likely. Not even if Mycroft got rid of all the evidence by morning.”

Molly laughed, nodding before joining her silly other-half and closing the door behind her. It would be one hell of a conversation with Sherlock in the morning.


End file.
